Super Jock and Awkward Girl Take World
by SavingOphelia
Summary: <html><head></head>Or, how Jamie The Jock managed, despite all their troubles, to carry his relationship with social reject Brienne Tarth into college. / Rather, the sequel to The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl. \</html>
1. Prestigion Is My Middle Name (And A Word

**Super Jock and Awkward Girl Take World**

**A/N ~ **Woohoo! *Squeals* We're back in business, folks! This is a momentous occasion. I'd just like to thank y'all again for sticking with my strangely adorable AU, and me, the self proclaimed queen of turning cheese into fluff. Just to let you know, like the original, if you want to see the climax, you'll have to stick it out to the end.

**Disclaimer ~ **My time off of writing about these people in my world has given me great time and opportunity to _not_ make peace with not owning A Song of Ice And Fire, don't be silly, but to put in motion various plots. Trade me a golden hand for a sackful of winter roses and an ice lolly made from the Wall and maybe I'll get somewhere.

**Coming Up… **Jaime and Rhaegar's accommodation is somewhat more preferable to Lyanna's, and a great deal more preferable to Brienne's, which is possibly the seven hells incarnate, our favourite quarterback should really learn to drive, and Kings Landing College is the best college around. _Really. _**Find out in Super Jock and Awkward Girl Take World!**

**1. ****Prestigion Is My Middle Name (Also A Word)**

When Jaime Lannister stepped out of the car, feet crunching on pristinely arranged gravel (yes), the sunlight was glaring down on him as if it were still July. (Which, granted, he'd spent trapped in his bedroom for telling a promful of student to go fuck themselves, but ho hum.) (Details.) September had arrived a week ago, and Jaime was quite glad that the world and weather hadn't got the memo.

He surveyed his surroundings and was not disappointed. In front of him, the gleaming red brick enormity rose, all reflection-polished glass and paper adverts featuring scarily grinning people. To his left, and beyond the main building, the Red Keep, Jaime remembered from induction, was a multitude of grass, trees and parkland. There was meant to be a lake somewhere on campus, with a coffee shop beside it, and there was supposedly a restaurant lounge too, but Jaime had no idea where they were meant to be, through all the brick and glass buildings everywhere. He just figured he'd find the nearest Dominos branch online and order pizza for his entire college life.

"Jaime, stop staring around like some newborn lion cub whose never seen a tree before and help me get my things to Stag Hall –"

Ah, joy. It was amazing how a beautiful sight full of promises could be so entirely smashed by the voice of his twin sister. He glanced back around. Chataya, who had driven them the way here, was waiting in the car – Tywin had said goodbye last night and this morning, again – and Cersei was somehow managing to stay upright on the most ridiculous shoes he had ever seen, with a bag in each hand. "And what the fuck is Stag Hall?"

"It's one of the dormitory blocks you idiot." Cersei muttered, before turning around and putting her bags on the roof of the car. (God forbid they touch gravel.) (Gravel that, like everything else in this place, looked like it had probably been polished.) She withdrew a map from one of those stupid bags she liked that were too small to actually fit anything in and frowned at it, before deeming it useless and tearing it down the middle, letting the pieces flutter to the gravel.

"Fouling uni property on your very first day, you are off to a _remarkable_ start." Jaime commented, glancing at the paper.

"It wasn't helping me so I'm not helping it," Cersei told him dismissively. "Now help me find Stag Hall. I'm in room three six one."

"I'm not obligated to help you do anything, I have the flat, _remember?_" Jaime smiled. For some reason, he felt like the fact she was in a public dormitory and he was number nine, Kings Row Court, made him an ultimately superior being.

"Yes, and only because you didn't get a scholarship. Mine's accommodation inclusive." Cersei told him airily, which put the superiority back in her hands.

Number nine, Kings Row Court had come about in the last few weeks of August. While Jaime's father searched for a flat near campus to rent for his son, because frankly Jaime did not want to share a room with somebody he didn't know, and after all, he was Jaime Fucking Lannister. Lannisters had money exactly for this sort of thing. Of course, it was rather helpful when Aerys Targaryen, Rhaegar's father, was also looking for one for his son, and the four of them decided it would just make more sense for them to rent a place together. Split cost – and they were two of the richest families around – and Jaime and Rhaegar were friends anyway. Nine, Kings Row Court was the top apartment in a block of flats literally two minutes away from Kings Landing.

A few days ago, Jaime and Rhaegar had driven up – well, Rhaegar had driven, his mum's car, but whatever – and unpacked all their stuff. It was actually shaping up to be a pretty nice home, assuming Lyanna Stark didn't half move in and terrorize the place. And Cersei and her fancy law scholarship were stuck in this Stag Hall.

"Yeah, whatever." Jaime muttered. Cersei's things filled the car. Literally. Stuffed full. And it was a massive fucking car. The boot separator thing had to be taken out, one of the back seats put down, every single space in the vehicle crammed full of boxes and bags and hampers. Jaime had struggled to get out the car from beneath the plastic boxes of shoes – _all shoes_ – that had him wedged in. he had no intention of helping her. (She would just smile the next thing in possession of a penis that passed into doing the work for her.)

Absently, he took out his phone from his pocket and did the first thing he did when he took out his phone these days. He hadn't received any texts from her today, but he usually still had to send the first one. _Tge eagle has landed! _Then he glanced around. He didn't really know what he was meant to be doing, so he just stood there and looked attractive. Dozens of other cars had pulled up, and there were students milling about, holding laundry baskets full of stuff, talking to each other, talking to parents. He looked to his phone again. No reply. Still. _Ud better get here soon woudnt want orientatio fun haaha. _He waited a few minutes. _Kidding BRI u kno ur great_

Finally, after an age of listening to Cersei rant about how she couldn't find the box with all of her electrical appliances in, he got a reply. _Could you please learn to spell at some point this year? I'm in the resident parking lot, Dad parked here, I need to unpack. Where are you?_

_My spelling is the true spellign Im in the visitor parking I think cerseis lost the plot because she cant find her curling tongs, its funny _

_*spelling. *I'm. *Cersei's. *can't. _

_Unpack later Ill help u, come to main office in red keep n we can do orientation _

_But my room is right in the middle floor of the dorm block, it's going to take me a while to get everything up the stairs, everyone else in KLC is apparently using the elevator so I can't use it, and I have a TV with me. _

_U do weightlifting u retard ur arms r bigger than mine _

Jaime put his phone away when it became evident that she wasn't going to reply. He texted Rhaegar too, asking where he was, but he didn't get a reply there either. Apparently it was anti-technology day or something. And then he followed Cersei's latest withering glare and felt an uncalled for grin spread across his face. "Bye." Jaime said without looking, as he jogged off across the path cut through the gravel, toward the Red Keep, glad all of his stuff was already in a shiny new flat, pitying these poor poverty deprived souls who had to unpack in public dormitories. It was a sadness really.

"Somebody chose to listen to the king of wiseness." Jaime told her.

"I don't –" Brienne started, but relented. "You are insufferable sometimes, you know that…"

"And that's why you love me."

"I don't –" She protested, and he could have laughed at that blotchy red cast crawling up her neck. As always. That blotchy red cast was more of a family to him than Cersei by this point. It was surprising really, how unchanged this Brienne Tarth was to the Brienne Tarth he once rolled his eyes at in the hallways. He just understood more, and all those irritating, laughable habits, hobbies and general personality additions she had just made sense. And he was slowly withdrawing more snarky comments from her. By the end of the year, she'd be almost Jaime-class at insulting people. Honestly, he was such a good influence. (No, knowing her, the only person she'd ever insult to their face was Jaime.) (Or anyone else she deemed as _insufferable _as Jaime.)

"No, you love me because I serenade you at public celebrations." He grinned. "It's boiling, why are you wearing a jumper?"

"Because it's clothes, and - I like my jumper." Brienne told him. Jaime didn't know why. He was no chick, but everything that woman wore was enormous, shapeless and probably designed for a man.

"One of these days, I'm going to kidnap you and take you shopping. Then you'll be glad I'm not more like Carrie Bradshaw over there," He jerked his head in his twin's direction. Cersei was still standing in the parking lot, sneering at the gravel, snapping something about misplaced Prada rather viciously into some poor fool on the other end of her new iPhone. The look on Brienne's face at the word shopping was so fish out of water it was hilarious.

"Yoo-hoo, Mr and Mrs Jaime Lannister!" A family voice shouted, from around the corner of the Red Keep, and sure enough, it was everybody's favourite couple, Brooding Medieval Prince and The Blue-Haired Menace. Ha. _That was good_. If he and Brienne were Super Jock and Awkward Girl, then that was Rhaegar and Lyanna sorted for sure.

"Shoot me, shoot me now." Jaime told Brienne. (Keeping up appearances.) (Lya was alright, in small doses.) (Except for the fact that bitch stole his fucking scholarship.) (But whatever.) (He was cool.)

"Sorry, I didn't get to reply to your text, I was dropping off the stuff I forgot to bring the other day at the flat, I gave Lyanna the tour. I hope you don't mind." Rhaegar told him. He'd done this ridiculous thing with his hair, which was even longer now, tying back two of the front bits rather than his usual ponytail. Honestly, that was possibly one of the gayest things things ever, how did that bloke carry it off straightly? Several of the passing girls were giving Rhaegar looks, and frankly, Jaime wished them luck and himself popcorn, what with the rabid Stark herself on the loose. (And plus, the rest of them were giving looks to _him_, so it evened out.) (Not that he actually would have gone for any of them.) (They weren't really uncomfortable, blue-eyed, freckled or freakily tall enough to be his type.)

"Your telly's massive." Lyanna informed him.

"Thank you, I hadn't noticed." Jaime did notice that Lyanna's t-shirt was a picture of charizard in the style of that weird dragon symbol Rhaegar's family was obsessed with. Now, he thought they made an awesome couple, but wasn't that a bit weird? Brienne wouldn't go around in a t-shirt with the West Rock Industries lion on it. Then again, Brienne wouldn't go around in a t-shirt, because she was apparently forbidden by law to wear anything aside from enormous knit jumpers and well-used jeans. "And it's not a _telly_, it's a computer screen. For gaming. And DVDs."

"Fuck, bro. You are one spoiled little shit."

"Be nice, Lyanna." Rhaegar told her fondly. "Anyway, her dad drove her up at six in the morning, on his way taking the others to Winterfell North University, so Lya's all unpacked. Do you want to see when the next orientation is? Mostly it'll be the same as induction, but it's worth a go. Brienne, are you unpacked?"

Brienne still looked a bit annoyed about all this directly addressed conversation stuff. "My dad is taking my things up for me, I should be helping, Jaime just…"

"Jaime just thought she'd have a much better time with him." Jaime interjected helpfully. "Everyone does."

"Are you two continuing to be the only people on earth not to acknowledge that you're dating?" Lyanna asked unhelpfully, producing a ridiculously oversized KitKat from her board shorts pocket. It was the Brienne Tarth of confectionary.

"Yes," Jaime replied, stubborn. "Anyway, right let's go do this orientation crap."

The automatic glass doors of the Red Keep reception were ridiculously shiny, and inside hardwood floors, water-rock displays, dotted rows of fluorescent lighting, everything was gleaming. Students were hovering around, or leaning against walls, or sitting on the floor. There were people everywhere here. Everywhere. At the reception was a woman in a bow tie, who handed them all maps akin to the one Cersei had torn up in the car park. "You all here to collect copies of your timetables? Freshmen?" She asked, helpfully, before offering them all strawberry chewing gum, which they all politely declined, except Jaime, who saw no sense in pointless polite declining and took a piece with a lazy smile.

"Names? Guess you want your KL student IDs as well, right? And I don't mean fake ones for the pubs in town, yeah?" As she rummaged under the desk, Jaime reflected that he loathed people who turned every fucking thing they said into a question. He preferred a more direct approach. (Brienne had probably never turned a sentence into an unnecessary query in her life.)

"Well, I'm Jaime Lannister, Sex King and –" He was cut off by Rhaegar, but he'd already given himself enough time for some girl with dip-dyed purple hair to wolf-whistle.

"Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark and Brienne Tarth."

"M'kay, got everything right here, our next orientation's in, like, ten minutes, if you want to wait around with the rest of them?" She handed over the papers, and Jaime read through his eagerly. He was mainly focusing on the kick-ass Sport and Exercise Sciences course. Hopefully he'd get a degree. What that was going to be helpful for, he didn't know, but whatever, he could always do what his dad did and inherit the family fortune and wear suits and shit. He was pleased. Half his classes didn't start until after lunch, and he only had two lectures on a Friday. Good times. Lyanna did a great deal of happily jumping, swearing and shouting, mostly all three at the same time.

"Brienne, what time's your Monday S and E?" Jaime enquired, scanning his timetable. Rhaegar and Lyanna were taking it as well, he was pretty sure, but he was also pretty sure he didn't really give a fuck about them, compared.

"Three thirty."

"_Shit!"_ Jaime swore, out of instinct, but nobody really paid him any heed when there was the blue-haired girl laughing profanities non-stop right next to him. His was quarter to eleven, in the morning. Which meant, _same course, different class. _"Shit. Do you think there's space in your class? I can try to switch."

"I don't know. You don't have to do that." Brienne told him, still picking through her courses with those remarkable eyes. Jaime caught sight of some toffee-nosed twat looking at her as if trying to determine her species. Jaime gave him the fiercest glare, out of instinct, and he backed off, looking quite offended. Fucking posh dickhead. Jaime made a mental note to hit him if he ever got the chance. Fucking hell.

"I didn't _have_ to sing the worst song ever recorded in front of a hundred people and then tell them to go fuck themselves, either." Jaime grinned.

"Yo, Stannis!" Lyanna, who was now cross-legged on the floor beside Rhaegar, shouted, and Jaime groaned when he followed her gaze. _Ugh…._ Why in the name of the seven bloody hells would anyone ever _voluntarily_ talk to _Stannis Baratheon_? The man was the most boring person on the planet, except for maybe his stupidly decent friend _Davos_, who sold onions. Yes. Every time he ground his teeth Jaime wanted to whack him.

Stannis turned. Next year would be his final year at college. Good riddance. But then again, that would mean Renly would come up, Renly whom Brienne had so painfully crushed on, ugh. Baratheons were enough to give anyone indigestion. "Yes?"

"Robert coming or what?" She asked, taking out her KitKat wrapper and chasing the remaining scraps of melted chocolate around the tinfoil with her finger.

"My brother will be along, I suppose." Stannis didn't seem too interested in his brother. "I'll talk later." He walked off.

"I sincerely hope he doesn't." Jaime retorted.

"Stannis isn't that bad. It's the dyed-ginger psychopath whose name I've forgotten you need to worry about." Lyanna grinned, but Jaime didn't, because he had the horrible feeling that being in the same college, he'd have to hear the dyed-ginger psychopath preaching pretty soon. "I just wanted to know if Robert was coming still."

"Why would anyone want to do that?" Jaime snorted, neglecting to acknowledge that Rob Baratheon was one of his best mates last year. Before the Halloween party, and Cersei and Brienne and the hand and so on.

"Because he's still fucking obsessed with me and it's weird, that's why, you posh penis." Lyanna told him, yanking Rhaegar's leg until he sat down too. "Is your sister here?"

"She got a law scholarship with inclusive accommodation, you Northern penis." Jaime replied, and then glanced around. Cersei was nowhere to be seen. Probably attacking a perfectly good dorm room with laughably overpriced perfume.

"That insult doesn't work, because you can't call a girl a penis, and it's not alliteration anyway."

"Yeah, and _Northern vagina_ is alliterative."

"Can we not talk about my girlfriend's vagina?" Rhaegar tried hopefully.

(They weren't anyway.) (They were talking about the use of the word vagina as a female-exclusive insult.) "Like you'd rather talk about anything else?" Jaime grinned.

Rhaegar uncharacteristically ignored him. Maybe he deserved it. "Also, are we all in the same sociology?"

"My first one's tomorrow. Midday." Jaime said, as Lyanna and Brienne said pretty much the same. Frankly, his replying to that question was rather pointless, seeing as the only reason he ever signed up for sociology in the first place was that his friends were going to be taking it. Literally. (Plus, it seemed like an easy A.)

"Hey," A voice greeted, from the reception doorway. "I'm Preston, Preston Greenfield and I'm a –"

"Alcoholic." Jaime whispered to Brienne, and he got a faint smile out of her, which he counted as a win.

" – Student Mentor, which basically means I get to boss you around and tell you where all the buildings are. And, apparently, lead freshman orientation."

Preston, Preston Greenfield droned on for about fifty years, whilst about two point three freshmen actually listened, and Jaime's eyes immediately caught on one of the guys who had just crept into the back of the room with his friends. _Hyle fucking Hunt. _Well well. Looked like Jaime wouldn't have to use the posh boy as a punching bag this semester. He wasn't sure why he hated Hyle Hunt so much. It was just _something about him… _Jaime turned to stare at him, too subtle to glare, but just a nice, simple _you're a dick and I'm far more attractive than you_ look. He gave that look until Hyle Cunt himself turned around, looking defensive and surprised, and Jaime, very pointedly made a show of taking hold of Brienne's hand.

Brienne glanced down at it as if she'd never seen a hand before. Maybe she hadn't, he didn't know, he'd spend most of last year with his wrapped into a boxing glove of bandage. Her eyes seemed to question him so he just shrugged, and gave a harsh, triumphant glare back to Cunt. It wasn't that he was jealous, because frankly, he was Jaime Fucking Lannister, god-hot and dirty rich, and Hyle was quite unattractive, annoying and a fucking cunt. But he was a quite unattractive, annoying fucking cunt who had asked Jaime's sort-of girlfriend to the prom. And there was something that seemed a bit fishy about that.

(Not fishy about asking Brienne to the prom in general.) (Brienne was pig-stubborn and ugly but she was also… cool.) (And awesome.) (And -) (_Fuck, Jaime, nobody can hear you, stop._)

This Preston Greenfield fellow, who by the way was dressed almost entirely in _white_, the fuck was up with that, lead them all down the main reception into a larger corridor, filled with plinths and framed certificates and other poncy rich-school things, pointing out lecture halls down both ends, and then through another set of glinting automatic doors out onto a courtyard of grass-and-chair framed pond. Because that was good architecture. (Oh, what's this building missing?) (_A massive fucking pond in the middle of it.) _

Through the other side of the Red Keep, Jaime made several sarcastic comments in Brienne's ear about more of that polished gravel and grass that was probably individually trimmed by a Nazi with OCD. But, he couldn't really help himself. The library building was called the _Student Library and University Learning Hub. _Slush. As in, _slush._ Computers, bookshop, books and all under the acronym _slush._ He'd probably never set foot in it, but he could never take that seriously. Several times, when Jaime passed a couple of girls voluntarily wearing _blazers_, or Preston Greenfield pointed out the fucking _visual art gallery _or the _musicality and artistic body movements studios_, he reflected that for once in his life, he might actually be amongst people as spoilt as he was.

It was annoying. Wow. "Brienne," Jaime leaned over, whispered to her again. "Is this what it's like to be in my house?"

"Yes," She sounded sincere. He'd have to call Tyrion and get him to get Tysha's verdict. _I mean, at least Brienne actually lives in a house instead of a trailer in a mudpit or wherever she comes from._ Huh. He was used to just being able to bang on his wall and shout through to his little brother. Tyrion had better turn up often. Sometimes Jaime felt like he was the only one in the family who actually liked Tyrion.

"Oh, get a room you two!" Lyanna remarked, and not quietly. Damn bitch never did anything quietly. "On second thoughts though, don't, I've waited long enough to see you two actually even look at each other."

"You two should try and transfer into our drama course." Rhaegar said suddenly, and not loudly. Damn bastard never did anything loudly. "We're putting on a play around Christmas, there's a few spaces left, it's fun."

"No it isn't, and that was random." Jaime retorted, immediately voicing that _no_ that Brienne was mouthing at him. He paused. "Look at her, she can't even talk properly as herself, let alone anyone else."

"I am right here, Jaime." Brienne didn't sound as annoyed as she could be.

"Jaime, we just passed the theatre block, that wasn't random." Rhaegar protested gently. "It might be advisable to pay attention. We are practically living here now."

"Ooh, food!" Lyanna shouted, and Preston Greenfield, who Jaime decided he didn't really like, laughed, introducing the famous on-campus bar and restaurant, explaining that anyone who needed a part-time job could try Visenya's Grill, as it was so called. As far as the campus went, Visenya's, Jaime noted, was not far from the flat. He could just walk there for food. (If anything happened to the Dominos.) "Brienne, you, me, girls night in there and you can tell me all about your sex life with Lannister." She wiggled her eyebrows. Some girl in yellow boots whispered something to her friend about sex life with Lannister. Jaime, for once, was out of the moment enough not to wink or wind anyone up.

Because Jaime didn't bring up the fact that they hadn't actually gotten close to sex yet.

(He'd get to that later.) (He'd think about that later.)

(Maybe after the apocalypse.)

So, instead, he did what was his default still. He made an offensive joke. "_Brienne_… You're a girl?"

"Don't talk like that, Jaime, you wear more cosmetics than the rest of the girls in Kings Landing combined." Brienne replied, not looking at him.

"You _are_ getting better. Skip a lecture a week for my insult lessons and you'll be as good as me in no time at all." He paused, and then amended it. "Kidding, of course. Nobody's as good as me."

That night, Jaime and Rhaegar were sitting beside each other, cross-legged on the brown striped rug in their living room –_their living room. _As in, no parents. No imbeciles. _Theirs._ – playing _Guitar Hero_ on Rhaegar's Xbox (Jaime's was hooked up in his room), the game generously provided by Lyanna, who was sprawled across the huge, low corner sofa that dominated the room in a weird and disproportionate way that you'd only find in the apartment of two new college students, just shouting at them various ridiculous insults about their game play, because she'd forgotten her Guitar Hero drum kit and was a toddler about it.

"Rhaegar, you play like a bearded blind camel lost in the Dornish sewers, why am I sleeping with you?" Was apparently Lyanna's latest, blue hair in disarray, demolishing one of the giant peanut butter jars Jaime had brought with him the other day, just in case of a lack of energy and Dominos delivery. (Despite the fact that Jaime had left a voicemail with Brienne to order a pizza and bring one over.) Jaime's worst fears had been realized. Stark had half moved in. And they hadn't even had any classes yet.

"Because you love me!" Rhaegar called back, fingers flying across the buttons on the fake controller guitar thing.

"She won't when you loose, I'm fucking on fire, look at me, look at me go, go, go, go, shit shit, ah, crap, fuck, yes, woo, wow, yes!" Jaime jumped up, cord on his pyjama bottoms swinging wildly. "I am the king on the guitar throne!"

"Yeah, Lego-face, for now." Lyanna murmured darkly, scraping peanut butter off the lid.

"Lego face, you cannot be serious?" Jaime's victory dance around the room (or the space in the room not completely taken over by the sofa) was rudely interrupted by rather a violent banging on the door. Which was odd, considering they hadn't buzzed anybody in, and their place was like, the top floor. (Number nine.) (Jaime didn't understand housing numbers.) Their first ever visitor at Kings Row Court had obviously passed by someone leaving the building on their way in. He grabbed a grey hoodie from the sofa. "Lyanna, answer that, you're the only one not being a mega awesome rock star."

"It's my game." She muttered sourly, shouldering past him, and Rhaegar, who was now lying defeated on the floor, to yank open the door. (Which Rhaegar had already stuck up a poster of some famous violinist on.) (Honestly, _why_?)

"Yes, Lyanna, thank you for _inventing_ Guitar Hero – _Whoa, _somebody unpacked on the wrong side of campus." Jaime frowned. "Are you alright?"

Brienne Tarth looked furious. If this was a cartoon, she'd have storm clouds above her head. More furious than she'd ever been at him, because there was a note of resignation in her eyes, and annoyance, and she was walking with the demeanour of an angry bug who'd been crushed by a bus. She stormed in, hair a mess (what else was new) and two grease-dotted Pizza Express boxes stacked in her hand. She threw them quite viciously at the sofa, and Rhaegar, who had magically transported himself there with the power of the purple eyes or something, caught it, although it looked like the edge of the cardboard possibly cut into his stomach. He made a small _oof_ sound and Brienne's eyes apologized for her unmoving scowl.

"What's wrong?" Rhaegar asked, the same time Lyanna said something vaguely coherent and concerned.

"Jaime Lannister, I'm going to kill you!" Brienne barked, voice rising, face red, eyes lost.

"What did you do?" Lyanna asked him, the same time he thought it. Great friends he had here. _What did he do? _Shit. He racked his brains, icy dread washing over him, and yet he seriously couldn't think of anything bad that he'd done. In the recent past. That Brienne would be upset about. He'd flipped Hyle Cunt the bird when nobody was looking at orientation earlier, but Brienne wouldn't care about that and nobody had noticed anyway.

She threw herself down on the sofa. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Jaime smiled, about to make some sort of silly joke, before he decided against it and sat down beside her. "Come on, Brienne, what did I do? I know I'm a rich prick, but it's all part of my charm." Concern was edging in. He didn't do well with concern.

"Tell me what." Brienne repeated quietly, and then sighed, before turning to face him for once in her life and her voice was rising again. "_I'm sharing a dorm with your fucking sister_!"

Oh. That was the first time, he thought, she'd ever properly sworn. Or sworn in front of him, at least. He judged that this was a very, very, _very_ appropriate time to start.

**A/N ~ **My writer's block has been vanquished! Also, when she turns up, I think y'all are going to _really_ appreciate my interpretation of modern Melisandre. _Really._


	2. Life Lectures (From The Asylum)

**Super Jock and Awkward Girl Take World**

**A/N ~ **Melisandre was originally meant to be introduced in the next chapter, but it didn't really work when I was writing it, and frankly, I just wanted her to be in this thing ASAP. Oh, by the seven, I love that woman. Also, for the record, I REALLY LIKE CERSEI AS A CHARACTER IN THE ACTUAL BOOKS. This is a highly cartoonized, just-for-fun AU in which everyone is amped up to be as comical as possible. Yeah.

**Disclaimer ~ **I am George R R Martin. I just so happen to have had a divorce, a sex change, lost about a hundred years, lost about a hundred pounds, ditched the glasses, and moved to England. And started a fanfiction account.

**Coming Up… **There's a certain familiar surprise waiting for Jaime and the gang, to make this fanfiction sound like Scooby Doo, it is not pleasant, or in any way tolerable, and in fact may be worse than Brienne's accommodation, Jaime makes a decision, also friends, and a certain person to avoid **Find out in Super Jock and Awkward Girl Take World!**

** 2.****Life Lectures (Fresh From The Asylum)**

"Did you know, there are over three hundred different types of tree on the grounds? And over a thousand different flowers?" Rhaegar's purple eyes were intent, focused on the half-withered blue-petal-ed thing in his palm. _Thrilling_, Jaime Lannister's inner dick commentated, _absolutely thrilling_. "The botanical side of Kings Landing really is remarkable, it's a shame the city's so built up, and the port – you can just imagine how beautiful it would have been, what, a century or so ago?"

"Yeah. Wow." Jaime muttered to himself. There were times when he questioned why in the seven hells he was friends with Rhaegar Targaryen. (Now, at least, he could just go with _because he's paying for half the apartment._) He tried to feign an interested voice. "You can practically smell the horse shit from the train things. And the flesh of the zombies from _Pride's Prejudice._"

Rhaegar stared at him, with that look as if he could not quite understand him, which make Jaime want to punch him even more than he usually did. "Okay, you just said about five offensive things. Jaime, it's a book, for one thing, and for another it's _Pride _and _Prejudice_, which your girlfriend happens to be a fan of, so, y'know. Also, there are no zombies in it."

"Yes there are, it's on the cover. And Brienne doesn't like anything with no zombies in it." Jaime insisted, which was a lie, because Brienne was as much a closet romantic as he was. But Rhaegar could go fuck himself if he ever made the assumption anyone knew Brienne more than Jaime again. Like, seriously. The sunlight was filtering through the open curtains of their sofa-dominated living room, and it looked more autumnal outside than it had the night before. Jaime even found a conker on the windowsill behind his bed when he woke up an hour ago. How did that even happen?

Last night Brienne and Lyanna had stayed till about eleven, half eleven. Though they'd not yet gotten around to sorting out the fucked up television signal, after the Guitar Hero marathon ended with Brienne's entrance, but they'd brought box sets by the bucket (that wasn't right.) (box sets didn't come in buckets.) (did they?), so they watched _Breaking Bad_ until they looked like the zombies that were not, apparently, in _Prejudice and Pride_ or whatever the fuck it was called, and Brienne let out the most depleted and pathetic groan he'd ever heard and face planted a cushion. He didn't blame her.

Jaime had to put up with Cersei Lannister since foetushood, but never in the same room.

"You can stay here if you really want." Jaime had assured her, and meant it deeply, although because of the way his mind worked, he had to make it into some sort of joke on the outside. "And no, that was not an invitation to seduce me into giving you the apartment."

(He actually sort of hated it when Brienne was miserable.)

(He was the only one who was allowed to make Brienne miserable. Ever.)

"Thank you, but I can't… Couldn't I just leave forever instead?" Brienne whined. It had been half a joke, the closest Brienne Tarth would ever get to one, but the look in her big blue eyes made Jaime almost want to go shoot his twin sister in the face. (Not that he hadn't wanted to do that before, but now he wanted to do it for another human being's sake.) (If Brienne was in fact a human being.)

"Please don't, I've grown rather fond of you." Jaime smiled, encouraging her to smile back but if he was in her position he'd look the same. (No.) (Hopefully he'd looks fifty thousand times hotter.) (But still all dread and anxiety and panic and fury and every other painful human response to horrificness.)

"Jaime Lannister admits emotion for someone other than his reflection, there's a first." Brienne muttered. Jaime had to kiss her on the cheek to shut her up. Then, he was going to relate to her the careful advice and sympathy that he'd been constructing in his mind for the previous half an hour, which, if he did think so himself, would probably have made the world (and a dormitory room shared with his twin sister) a whole lot more bearable. _Was going to._ Because then Lyanna Stark started having seizures all over the place.

"Fuck yes!" She was grinning. "You two are made for each other, my gods. And frankly, Lannister, I'd say you were more than a little fond of her, considering you ditched your old dickhat friends and told them all to go fuck themselves for the sake of singing to her and making out with her in front of, like, a billion people."

"I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?" He'd smiled, for some unfathomable reason, but to be honest he'd still been, and had been all night, anxious about the whole Brienne-Cersei-room situation. "And it wasn't exactly _making out_." _In front of you. _

"It was in my mind."

"Brienne, does this ever worry you?" Rhaegar asked across his girlfriend's blue head. He sounded genuinely concerned. Prick. Jaime had ownership over being genuinely concerned about Brienne.

"That she ships us like Catelyn Tully ships Tenrose? Not so much anymore, it's… Don't worry." Brienne replied. Her mind was obviously elsewhere or her words would not have been nearly as coherent.

"Ships? Like, pirates, the fuck are you talking about?" Jaime frowned.

Anyway, the girls had left, and Jaime had played a quick round of _Fable_ in his bed before he went to sleep. And as soon as he'd showered and dressed and done his hair and come out into the living room (which frankly he was considering renaming _couch room_), Rhaegar had started rambling on about the wildlife on campus.

So there was some rare bush or whatever, who gave a shit? (Rhaegar, apparently.)

"You're thinking of _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_, which is just a really successful fanfiction, and also still a fictional book." Rhaegar was talking about something, but Jaime wasn't really listening. He was, however, glad that his first lecture of his time at Kings Landing would be the one thing he really didn't give a shit about, and that his three friends (no, two; Brienne was his kindasorta girlfriend now, after all.) (Seven hells.) (That was still a strange thought.)

"Whatever. Where's sociology anyway?" Jaime checked his Rolex. Eleven-thirty. Sociology was at twelve. Why was he up so early? Fucking education.

Rhaegar withdrew his painfully neat timetable from his jeans pocket and frowned. "The… _Green Fork of the Trident building_?"

"These places have some strange names. I wonder how high Aegon Whoever who founded this place was when he named everything?" Jaime grinned, grabbing an apple from the bag on the coffee table and checking his phone. Though he couldn't be arsed to unlock it, he could make a pretty good guess who the seventeen new messages were from. Two poor people. But he'd see (one of) them in a minute anyway. "Let's go."

Rhaegar quite rudely walked out of the room, which was quite unlike him, and then returned with one of Jaime's bags, which was quite weird. "Jaime."

"Is it a bit gay that you've been rummaging through my stuff?"

"I put a notebook, a chocolate bar, a biro and your sociology textbook in here. I had a feeling you'd wake late and forget about the important things." He smiled. "But you can't rely on me this whole time. I'm not your mother."

"I'm quite glad; my mother's dead. Although I suppose you do have the right hair length for it." Jaime muttered, taking the bag, and then felt absurdly guilty. Years past, and it still felt too soon to even bring up Joanna in jest. Sometimes it seemed like it would always be too soon. He guessed that wasn't so bad.

On their way out of the door Jaime remembered he didn't have his key, so he went back, momentarily thought he'd lost it already, then found it on the sofa and pocketed it. _Slow clap for your intelligence the first day of fucking college, Lannister. _Leaving the ground floor of Kings Row Court, Jaime was grateful once again for just how close Kings Landing College actually was; you literally just had to turn a corner that was less than a minute away, and then cross a road. That was it. Then, there it was. Obesity advocate or not, Jaime was glad. He could even stagger across hungover. (He had yet to try this out.) (But it was just a theory that he had.)

"Right, you do what you want, try and find this Trident building, but I'm making my way up to Stag Hall to free my girlfriend from the clutches of my evil twin." Jaime announced the moment they stepped onto college threshold.

"I'll come with you, we can get Lyanna on the way." Rhaegar agreed, withdrawing his phone to text her. Jaime was glad that he did that. He'd rather look at all the texts from Brienne and Cersei later, when he was with the former, and could laugh about it instead of feel painfully inclined to hit the KLC head of accommodation and painfully unable to. It hurt. Jaime was always used to being able to hit whoever he wanted to hit. (Except his fucking sister.)(Or his dad.) (Or certain teachers.)

Stag Hall was a large building, at the side of the college closest to Jaime and Rhaegar's place, and directly opposite the Flaming Heart frat house, where Stannis Baratheon and his moustached followers (just talking about the women) (_that's you, Selyse Florent._) resided. It mostly comprised of large glass windows, most of which were obscured by various curtains, one of which by the backs of posters. There was a large, plastic silhouette of a prancing black stag mounted on one wall, and it really was the most hideous thing Jaime had ever seen. He wondered how it hadn't been torn down or vandalised yet.

Like most of the doors in this place, Stag Hall's double ones further encouraged obesity with their automatic sliding, and although the stairs were there (empty), the sheer size of the elevator made Jaime question the KLC board's investment in the health of young adults. Hopefully the Sport and Excersize Sciences course would compensate. Otherwise he didn't really know why he was there.

Room three-six-one, Stag Hall, was on the fifth floor of eight, for some reason (people in Kings Landing, apparently, didn't really give a shit about chronology where numbers were concerned) (unless the numbers counted all on-campus housing) (but Jaime wasn't bringing logic into this) and the elevator doors opened out onto a long hallway, lined by doors on either side, all of which except three were decorated somehow, aside from the metal dorm numbers. A rather amusing one was covered in bumper stickers. A rather terrifying one was just painted black. Jaime expected that soon, one of the blank ones would have a large picture of Cersei's face plastered across it, as that would of course be the only way she would ever allow something to be decorated.

Jaime held out a hand to stop Rhaegar and took a (brave) step foreward, taking a breath and steeling himself for whatever was to come when he knocked the door with the brass _361_ hanging on it. He was pretty sure Cersei's first class had been earlier, but even so. The door swung open outwards and nearly hit Rhaegar in the face. A very desperate looking Brienne Tarth was filling the doorway, with the kind of fevered look one can only acquire from sharing living space with Cersei Lannister. Jaime smiled pleasantly. "Well," He stated. "You look like you had a _lovely_ first night's sleep."

Brienne glanced back into the room and closed her eyes for a moment. (Which greatly annoyed Jaime, who had been subconsciously trying to determine whether they were more the hue Caribbean-ocean or summer skies for the past few seconds.) "I think I am going to loose my mind before this year is over."

"I wouldn't blame you." Jaime muttered, while Brienne turned back around, grabbed a _Gears of War_ messenger bag (which Jaime sort of really wanted) and closed the door behind her, looking extremely relieved and a lot more herself the moment the lock clicked shut. "Holding up?"

"Not well. I can manage." She tugged the hem of her grey sweater down quite violently. "She's put a framed painting of the West Rock Industries lion over her bed. Why would she do that? And she's put a black scarf down the middle of the room to separate us. It isn't as if I'd like to cross it in the first place, but forbidding –"

"Here." Jaime elbowed Rhaegar out of the way and reached up to calm down a bit of hair that had been sticking up at the back of Brienne's head since she opened the door. He was very familiar with Cersei's ways. The lion was merely a ridiculous way of Cersei flaunting her family's wealth and success, and one of her many little habits of enforcing the fact that she was the most deserving child of their father's praise. (Jaime had it all psychoanalysed, or some shit.) He never thought she'd go as all out as an actual scarf separating their things though.

"Thank you. There's only one bathroom on this floor, and Cersei already had some girls dismount one of the mirrors and walk it around so she can see the back of her head. I fucking _hate_ her."

"Welcome to the club. When we were seven, I refused to do a piece of homework for her – mostly because I hadn't done it myself, but whatever – so she told Dad I was the one who'd broken his records and he's never forgotten. I fucking hate her too." Jaime hoped this would be seen as consolation. There were many other things Cersei had done to him over the years. In fact, he'd lost count. His twin sister was an unadulterated, raging bitch, who possibly maintained her figure by devouring nothing but the souls of kittens and the dreams of dying children, and committed at least six horrible acts a day, but that was the first that had popped into his head, and frankly, Jaime wasn't about to complain about Cersei's outburst that last test day back at Westeros High, because without that he probably wouldn't be with Brienne right now, and that was a reality he did not want to picture.

"Yes, Jaime, but it's easier for you. She's your twin sister, so you have to love her as well. You said it yourself, you were inseparable when you were younger. I've got _nothing_ for her apart from hate." Brienne explained tiredly.

"A great human being once said, _allow no man to drag you so low as to hate him_." Rhaegar put in, quite unhelpfully.

"That great human being –" Jaime started.

"Has never lived with Cersei." Brienne finished.

Rhaegar was grinning idiotically. "You know," he said, "It's times like this that I understand Lyanna."

The three of them sought out said Stark in her dormitory, whose door had been emblazoned with a symbol Jaime recognized from his freshmen days at high school, and the then older class, with a pit of confusion and dread and amusement mixing unsettlingly in his stomach. He decided not to bring it up, until Lyanna or anyone else did. Lyanna emerging from her room laughing hysterically (quite like a lunatic who belonged in an asylum somewhere)(well, judging by the insignia on the door, she was well in the asylum now) did not constitute her bringing it up. "You look nice." Rhaegar told her.

"_You look nice_? You're a fucking poetry major, and all I get in the morning is _you look nice_?" Lyanna remarked happily, finally choking down her crazy-person laughter, and rifling through her bag (which read _Pugs Not Drugs_) for something.

Rhaegar paused, grinning reluctantly. "Fine, how about this?" Regardless of the students milling around in doorways or outside the bathrooms or walking around (honest to gods, there were people _everywhere_ in this place) (and all people their age) (it was quite unnerving), Rhaegar Targaryen got down on his knees in the hallway and looked up at his girlfriend. "Slate drawn dark from earthy depth, dusk rain, the crystal glint of virgin snow, thick upon the frozen ground in a fragile winter," He declared, and not by any means quietly. People were stopping to look at them. "The greying infinity of a tempestuous sea, so furious in it's quiet-raged majesty, so swollen with entangled mystery, of perfect secrets never yielded but for the whispering of waves; no star nor sea nor serendipitous song could dare claim justice to your eyes. No human, beast or sight, no natural temple of all this earth could pull comparison to your precise perfection, for no hope nor dream nor innate life strings me to this world but you, and those strings be steel, my love unending, and my infinity be but a second, void of you."

Jaime surveyed the look on Lyanna's face; mouth half hanging open, corners twitched up into a face-splitting grin that filled her right up to the eyes. "Fucking hells," She uttered, and at that point everyone else in the vicinity started clapping, erupting into a raucous applause that included several cheers. By the time Rhaegar had gotten to his feet and had his face immediately attached to Lyanna Stark's, people were still clapping.

Jaime clapped alongside them, and he saw Brienne clapping alongside them too, but it didn't feel like clapping, it just felt like banging his hands together. Because although that was the most ridiculous, twattish, adorable, romantic and amazing thing he'd ever seen (aside from Brienne Tarth's face when he started singing _Angels_) he was more preoccupied by the tiny (growing) niggling twist of something more negative in his stomach. "Also," Rhaegar pointed out. "I'm technically a music major."

Not jealousy, but perhaps a touch of resentment. Lyanna Stark, who was practically a man, responded like that, and. Ugh. He didn't know what it was, what this feeling was trying to turn into a coherent thought, but he didn't like it. A memory was returning to him unbidden, of one of the last days of summer; he'd been at the park with Rhaegar and Oberyn and Ellaria Sand, Brienne was busy for some reason or another, and when the two latter started making out in a tree (he didn't know), somehow the topic had turned to their respective girlfriends. Rhaegar had said something Jaime didn't really think much of at the time, but now it was annoying him to no end. "But you know, Brienne's as much of a romantic as I am. I've heard some of her answers in Med Lit – or rather, read some of her essays Sir uses for displays –"

"I know." Jaime had interjected. "She said her favourite story as a kid was Galladon_._" He'd shrugged. "I think it's sweet."

Rhaegar had sounded _sad_ though (sadder than King Dramatic Prat himself usually did), as if that was a pitiful thing. Jaime hadn't realized till now that maybe he should have taken offense at that, not that anything Rhaegar did or said or even thought would be intentionally offensive, ever. But if Brienne was a romantic, she was too shy to ever act on that (for the time being) and it wasn't like Jaime really could.

If he'd said that to Rhaegar, Rhaegar would have told him that swearing at a school and singing a terrible song at a public event to win forgiveness and affection was an incredibly romantic gesture. Which yes, it was. But it was one time. Jaime couldn't get down on his knees in public and start reciting bloody _poetry_ at her. They weren't as touchy-feely as certain couples, and they hadn't even discussed the (lack of) sex yet.

Maybe they should be more like Rhaegar and Lyanna.

(As horrible as he felt to admit it, Jaime was torn between wanting to be all over her in public, as if daring anyone to challenge them, and, well, trying not to be viewed as a couple.)

Epiphanies weren't as decisively final as they were cracked up to be.

Jaime shook his train of thought away, because he loathed it more than he loathed the fact he could do nothing about Brienne's rooming tragedy. Eventually, Lya and Targaryen took a bow and the four of them started to make their way to this Green Fork place. (Slush. Green Fork. Aegon the Founder was stoned as fuck.) Along the way, about a dozen separate people interrupted their conversation to say something to Rhaegar. _You're amazing._ _I cannot believe what you just did._ _You're so good. Are you taking my Creative Writing class? You two are so cute. Never let him go! _That last one was for Lyanna. As Jaime had been thinking, his hand had instinctively taken Brienne's. It kept doing that without his permission.

They found sociology quite easily, and were actually on time, with no help from Rhaegar and his stupid, nonsensical rambling about snow's virginity or secrets about the sea or whatever the fuck he'd been talking about, thanks to a series of helpful signposts that were frequently seen around the grounds. The lecture hall was large, with seats rising up in tiers in an airy semicircle around what Jaime assumed was the professor's desk and blackboard. He claimed a seat between Brienne and Rhaegar, with Lyanna on the other side of him. Most of the class were already there and seated, texting and messing around. He figured most of them had just done what he'd done; circled this class because it didn't seem hard and people he knew where doing the same.

"Well, how does it feel to have gained a fan club without actually taking a class yet?" Jaime asked Rhaegar, stretching his arm around the top of Brienne's seat, when something hit him on the back of the head.

"We are the new power couple in this place, bow before us, mere heir of the Lannister businesses!" Lyanna shouted from the other side of her boyfriend, but Jaime was only half listening, as he turned around and picked up the thing that had been thrown at him from the floor behind his chair. It was a packet of tropical chewing gum, with one stick left, and a pink post-it note stuck to it, reading _free friday nite?_ Fucking hells. He hadn't been sitting there five minutes. He sighed, turning around. A girl about two rows behind him was smiling hopefully. She raised an over-plucked eyebrow. Honestly. Jaime carefully removed the post-it from the gum, taking it out and putting it in his mouth, chewing deliberately. Good gum. Then, he turned the post-it over, withdrew a biro from his pocket and wrote a reply, sticking it back to the empty gum packet and throwing it back at her. _Not 4 you. _

He turned back to Brienne, and started giving her tips on dealing with Cersei being under the same roof, waiting for the professor to enter. When he did, and announced that he was a substitute whilst their teacher was ill, Jaime caught the eyes of his friends and decided that this, his first ever college lecture, was going to be very, very fun. Instead of what the normal professor actually had planned for the lecture, this one would use one of the filler lesson plans prepared just for times like this. Some crud about how men and women were perceived in society.

Jaime quickly found a notebook in his bag and scribbled his plan, ripping out the page whilst Poor Sod Sub droned on about something or other, carelessly folded, and tossed across Rhaegar, to Lyanna, who wrote something, passed it back to Rhaegar, who also, if a bit more reluctantly wrote something, and then gave it back to Jaime, who showed it to Brienne, and tossed it under his seat before she could say no.

Jaime put his hand up. "Excuse me, Sir, but this lecture is offensive to my people."

The teacher, whose name Jaime had not bothered to learn, looked weary, and yet was that a slight undertone of amusement he heard in his voice? No. "And what people would those be, Mr…?"

"Lyanna Stark." Jaime replied loudly, somehow keeping a straight face when even Rhaegar was struggling. Some students filling the rest of the lecture hall were stifling laughs now too. "And my people are the –"

"That is not your name. Your real one, now?" The man prompted.

Jaime tried to look outraged. "That is my real name! And this is Jaime Lannister," He motioned his head at Brienne. "Brienne Tarth," He pointed at Rhaegar. "And Rhaegar Targaryen on the end." Lyanna snorted.

"Alright," The man said. "Lyanna, how about you go first to tell me your ideas about what makes a man in the modern world. I trust you've been listening. If you have no interest in sociology, maybe you shouldn't be here."

Jaime couldn't believe his luck. The old fool was really setting himself up for this one. He settled back in his chair, tried to look relaxed and opened his mouth, half-singing. "He must be as as swift as the coursing river!"

Thankfully, his friends jumped on the bandwagon with little care for their future. Lyanna, he expected it from. Rhaegar, maybe on a good day. Brienne – he doubted would actively participate. So it added to his joy all the more when it was Brienne who joined in next, if quieter and a touch half-heartedly. "With all force of a great typhoon…"

"With all the strength of a raging fire!" Lyanna practically shouted.

The four of them began to say the last line together – if together constituted amused singing from Jaime, crazy yelling from Lya, Rhaegar, who was grinning but sounded like he was just humouring them, and Brienne, who Jaime was pretty sure was just mouthing the words. It wasn't their fault the majority of the rest of the lecture hall decided to join in. "Mysterious as the dark side of the moon!"

By which point, everybody was laughing, except their substitute, who waited for the raucousness to calm down; Jaime high fiving everybody around him, feet on the empty chair in front of him, Lyanna cheering. It was all great energy, rising up and filling the room, but it subsided when the sub, in a very _un_sublike way, shouted, "_Quiet!_" Jaime glanced around. "Everybody _quiet down_! I run on a unique operating system; I see what you're all like before I do anything else. My name is Roose Bolton, and I'll be running your sociology course this year. You've just proved that not one of you should be studying this. If you are not prepared to take my lectures seriously," That changed things a bit. "Then, _get out!_"

Jaime stood up and made his way, very deliberately down the rows of seats, and out of the double-doors. Before long, standing in the hallway outside the room, Lyanna and Rhaegar, laughing and stumbling like idiots, and Brienne, staring at the floor, positively beetroot, appeared. Jaime nodded. "Well, that went well."

-o-

At around three o'clock, Lyegar, as Jaime had taken to calling them, had run off for drama, and Brienne had had to go for her medieval crap, after which he saw her momentarily as she tore off to another, more poorly-timed lecture, after all of them spending an hour or so at reception explaining why they all had to drop sociology, so Jaime decided to fuck time convention and see what that Visenya's Grill place had to offer, food-wise. It was a decent-sized place, on two floors, all wood and glass and mirrors, and just as he'd started scanning through the specials board, a tall guy with dark hair approached him. "Are you the guy that told everyone his prom to go fuck themselves and then walked out of Bolton's sociology lecture for swapping names and starting a Disney choir?"

Jaime smiled. Gods, word travelled fast here. "The one and only." Sort of. (The twin thing was a bummer.)

"Fuck," The guy grinned. "Fucking _hardcore_, bro. I'm Lewyn, Martell. You feel like grabbing a drink with me and those fucktards over there?"

"As long as you don't mean that in a gay way, then yeah." Jaime nodded. "Martell as in Oberyn Martell?"

"Yeah. He's like, my nephew or some shit. That's how I know about the prom thing, he told me it was the funniest fucking thing he'd ever seen in his life." Jaime nodded, ordered a drink and nachos, and sat down at Lewyn Martell's table. "Jon Connington, Jon Darry, Oswell Whent, everyone else." Jaime silently applauded Lewyn's introductory skills. "This is the guy who did the prom thing."

"Although I prefer to go by Jaime Lannister." He sat down, picking up a wodge of orange cheese and jalapeño pepper.

"Right. You got everyone singing Mulan in sociology." The one Jaime was pretty sure was Jon Darry said. "That's the genius of it all, everyone signs up for socio in their first year, thinking, you know, fuck this is going to be easy, then they get the fucking Boltpire. I did that first year. It's our second now." He explained. Right.

"Hey," Oswell Whent said. "My mate Pia thought you were hot. She's not fucking bad to be honest. Alright in bed. Interested? I think she threw you a note or something, I don't fucking know."

"I actually have a girlfriend, so." Jaime explained, at precisely the minute one of the guys whose name he didn't know spilled coke all over the table. "Shit!"

"Fucking hells," The other Jon muttered, grabbing about twenty napkins and just throwing them on the sticky, coke-dripping table, which achieved precisely nothing. Jaime managed to grab his nachos and pull them onto the empty chair next to him, which meant his priorities were sorted out. "Lew, go get some more napkins."

"Get them yourself you little shit." Lewyn told him, before getting up and stealing wads from other tables. When he returned, he handed Jaime some, and Jaime wondered why they were all so retarded they didn't think to go find a new table. "So who is she?"

"Who?" Jaime asked, folding a rather amusing face in one of the napkins before throwing them again on the coke puddle.

"Your girlfriend." Lewyn replied. "Pia's actually hot now, bro, monogamy is too cruel to rule."

What? Jaime sighed, frowning at the table, grabbing some more napkins and trying to wipe the coke pond toward the other end of the table. It didn't really work that well. Perseverance! "What? It's not like that. And Brienne Tarth, you probably don't know her."

Someone snorted. "_Brienne Tarth_ from medieval literature?"

"Yeah,"

"Who?" Lewyn asked the guy who'd spoken.

"Very fucking tall." Jaime told him, stuffing a handful of nachos in his face before continuing to play at being Chataya.

"Oh! Great ass. Horrible everything else." Lewyn Martell judged, so Jaime threw one of the coke-sodden napkins at his face.

"Can you stop objectifying my girlfriend for one minute and help me clean this up?"

"Right, sorry, bro." He paused. "But _Brienne Tarth._ Come on."

Jaime was already getting tired of this.

-o-

"No, I'm just _saying_ that if we did go to Hogwarts, I' d be in Gryffindor!" Jaime protested.

"Yeah, but your family would be crazy pureblood people, so you'd be _expected_ to be in Slytherin." Lyanna explained. Lyanna, it turned out, was a great Harry Potter fan, and the weird triangle eye symbol on her necklace was the thing from the last movie - the one that Jaime didn't really understand. Lyanna, Rhaegar, and Brienne had all read the books. Multiple times. It made Jaime feel like illiterate. (It wasn't his fault.) (Who _read_ for _fun_?) (Well.) (All his friends apparently.)

"Cersei would be the queen of Slytherin." Brienne put in, half-heartedly stirring her tea. Jaime did feel sorry for her. In a few hours, when they all left Visenya's Grill, although he had offered her to stay over, she would have to go back to her side of the scarf. It was sad. "Also, is she gay now?"

Jaime snorted. It was just the idea of Cersei without her ordinary male minions. Didn't work. "Not that I know of, but I am just the _twin_ fucking brother. Why do you ask?"

"She spends at _least _two hours talking to Taena Merryweather at the Myrish college. Ranting about patriotism and female oppression. I just thought it was weird for someone who wears so much… stuff in her hair." Brienne withdrew the stirrer from her tea and laid it on the table, where Lyanna snatched it up and proceeded to flick the remnants of Brienne's tea at Rhaegar's face.

"Nah, that sounds about right." Jaime nodded. "_I'm Cersei Lannister, and though I think all men are shit and I am judged for having breasts, I'm willing to go to bed with all of them to secure their votes for me as prom queen._" It was just easier these days to make fun of his sister than admit to himself he wanted them to be close like when they were kids again.

Lyanna laughed and asked, "Go to bed with all breasts or all men?" the same time her boyfriend added, "And pay hundreds to cosmetics corporations designed to de-empower women." But it was the third response that Jaime felt tear dread down his spine.

"Are you? How… controversial of you." Jaime thought he had escaped that voice. Randyll_._ _Tarly._

His mind was racing. And while he wanted to hit his old teacher, a harsh realization was dawning on the more rational (and considerably smaller) part of him; _what's really quite upsetting me is that Tarly's leaving the school with the end of the year with us, going off to run a module at some college, but I won't be around to see the safe, rainbow-filled glory of a Westeros High without Randyll Tarly, spawn of Satan._ Some college. Fuck it, fuck it, _fuck _it, seven fucking hells. He knew Mr. Tarly was leaving the school when his class was. For a job at a college. Any college, he'd never _listened_ the college. And here he was, demon, plague, humourless twat. Great.

"I'm going to the bathroom." Lyanna announced, suddenly standing up. "Because I don't want to be here. Er. Bye." Then she was gone. Fine. Fine. Just the three musketeers now.

"Hello, Mr Tarly." Rhaegar tried, as always, to be civil. "How was your summer?"

"Quiet, Targaryen. Run along and tell your _friend_ that she still has some answering to do for graduating with that ridiculous hair. I need a word with _Cersei Lannister._" Jaime shot Rhaegar his best look of betrayal, annoyance and disbelief as he stood up, apologetic look on his face, and wormed his way through the gaggles of students filling Visenya's Grill to find Lyanna Stark.

Jaime put on his best smile, even though he was slightly perturbed by the fact this was the second time today a member of the faculty had referred to him by a woman's name. "Sup, Mr Tarly."

His ex-teacher (Jaime fervently hoped that he had no lectures or no anythings with this man. If he did, he was going to drop them immediately, regardless.) "Jaime Lannister, do not think that just because you graduated Westeros High School before justice could be served that you are forgiven for all that you did in that place. You interrupted a traditional ceremony, you spewed absurd profanities at the entire senior prom, and made a fool of yourself, along with countless other stunts equally ridiculous. Now, I took the job here because it paid better, and I'd finally be where I deserved to be in the educational pyramid. Divisional Co-Head of Sports and Extracurricular Teams at Kings Landing." _Well. That affected him quite a bit. _"Yes." Apparently Tyrant Tarly could read his mind now. "Oh, and you -"

Brienne's head jerked up sharply, as if she'd been electrocuted. "Yes?" She swallowed.

"I'll have the final word in tryouts for the KLC varsity teams."

The moment the devil himself had turned his back and gone off, Jaime naturally flipped him a double bird, and Brienne's eyes closed and her head fell dejectedly back. He sighed. Fucking hells. "Well that was cheerful. What was all that about trying out for varsity?"

Brienne downed the rest of her tea as if it were whiskey. "Did you know, he protested against having girls on the high school varsity at Westeros? And he was the one who got Principal Targaryen to segregate into boys teams and girls teams. He doesn't like me very much."

"He doesn't like anyone very much. I once saw him screaming at his fat baby for not being able to speak yet." Well, that was an exaggeration, because that had never actually happened (to Jaime's knowledge). But he might as well. "That's bullshit. If he goes all Seňor Sexism on your ass, I'll kick his."

"I don't think he will. He said _co_-head. And... I don't care if he does either." Brienne sighed into empty Styrofoam and Jaime considered getting up and running after the bastard, and stabbing him in the eye with a stirrer.

"Yes you do." Jaime frowned. "Don't say that you don't because you don't want people feeling bad for you –"

"People _won't _ feel bad for me, I _don't care._"

"Well I do!"

"Hi guys!" Lyanna beamed, looking extremely too smug for Jaime's liking, and being too much of an interrupting cow for Jaime's liking as well. He pushed all his concerns about Randyll Tarly and Brienne out of his head and focused all his energy on being completely fucking terrified of whatever was going on inside of her incomprehensible, blue dye-soaked brain.

"What's going on?" Jaime asked warily, glancing around for any sign of explosives.

"I got you lattes." Lyanna explained, looking like she was stifling an enormous and rising bubble of laughter. She placed four cups on the table. Apparently the group of them were testing every drink Visenya's Grill had to offer on their first evening there.

"Thank you?" Brienne took one. Jaime didn't blame her for her uncertainty – when he sniffed his, however, it appeared to be untampered with.

"Here it comes." Lyanna grinned, something petrifyingly amused dancing in her eyes. "We'll talk in a minute." Then she scampered off, one of the lattes in her hands.

The moment Jaime heard the accent, quite close to where they were sitting, he dropped his head onto the table. It probably made Brienne smile, which was feat enough what with the Tarly situation and the roommate situation, but it fucking hurt, because tables were fucking hard, so he sat up again, and understood what Lyanna had been so happy about. Bitch. This was not, not in any way, funny.

"Miss, I'm just saying, can't you light up outside? You can't have that thing on in here –" The poor hopeless case clearing tables was trying to explain.

"Oh, she won't hurt anyone," Selyse Florent, whom Jaime had been sure was a poorly-built man for several years, protested calmly. She was at the front of the crowd behind the dyed-ginger psychopath. Jaime knew from Robert that she lead Stannis' rag-tag fraternity (cough cough) (cult) (cough cough) – they all worshiped her or something, even if she didn't live in the frat house. Not Selyse. She had a moustache. The brilliantly mental one.

"Fire is the purest death." Melisandre declared, looking up from the enormous lighter in her hand. Jaime remembered that godawful accent. Not funny. He remembered her name now, at least. She'd been suspended from Westeros High when Jaime was a freshman, for 'accidental arson'. She always carried the big fat daddy of all lighters on her person, but did not smoke. He was pretty sure she was on drugs. "Fire cleanses."

Brienne, who looked embarrassed, whispered to him, "Here it comes," And there it came.

"The night is dark and full of terrors, but the fire burns them all away."

Jaime snorted, and as Rhaegar sat down again, with him the girl whose name he'd forgotten who'd thrown a note at him in sociology, and Lewyn Martell, who had re-entered the grill about an hour ago, wondered why the university continued to allow the thing in. She was clearly psychotic, had a severe case of pyromania and went around spouting nonsense about the lord of light. The girl, who was a freshman like them, or so Jaime thought, looked terrified, as she should (by this point everyone was staring at the commotion about the lighter.) and leaned over to ask Lewyn, "What the hell is going on?"

Lewyn shrugged, unperturbed. "Oh, that's just Melisandre. We kind of figured she's on a continual drug trip. She's mostly harmless though. You learn to ignore her."

When the situation with the lighter had died down, Lyanna drifted over to the table, laughing like a maniac, like she had laughed coming out of her room in the morning. She grinned. "See you've noticed my roommate."

**A/N ~ **Melisandre is life.


	3. Taking The Fucking Wheel Already

**Super Jock and Awkward Girl Take World**

**A/N ~ **I don't even know what I'm trying to say. The chapters just feel weird without a note at the beginning. If anybody is interested, I own the charizard-as-the-Targaryen-sigil T-shirt that Lyanna was wearing in the first chapter. You can buy your own at (ask my boyfriend he bought it for me whoops.)

**Disclaimer ~ **GIRLS! WHO RUN THE WORLD! GIRLS! WHO RUN THE WORLD! GIRLS. WE RUN THIS MUTHA hear that George, that's the sound of an army of female readers lead by me coming to take your copyrights from you #femalefanrevolution

**Coming Up… **Jaime explores the city, Jaime nearly breaks the city, because Jaime is Jaime but also fabulous, teenage boys do not understand how to buy food, Brienne has seen some shit, and also does know how to buy food, and Rhaegar is a tired father and Jaime and Lyanna are his two unruly children. **Find out in Super Jock and Awkward Girl Take World!**

** 3.****Taking The (Fucking) Wheel (Already)**

"Excuse me?" Jaime grappled for the number change stick thing, whilst his _instructor_ lunged to smack him away.

"Wrong gear, I told you!"

"Shitshitshit!"

"Jaime!"

Jaime sat viciously back in his seat, annoyed, watching Tywin Lannister pull up the Ford against the curb of one of the few less-occupied backstreets of the Kings Landing city. He sighed. What the fuck was even happening? He had reached the conclusion his father must have been a really terrible driving instructor, because he had pretty much bashed every available square inch of the car. How hard could it be? Just tell him what to do. He'd be able to do it if Tywin was teaching him properly. Which he clearly wasn't.

"Do you want to continue?" Tywin's look was scathing. Frankly, he didn't know why his dad had to teach him himself anyway. Just hire the best instructor around. Simple.

"I don't know. I think there's a squirrel left alive a few streets back." Jaime snapped. Rhaegar thought it was crazy that the Lannisters had invested in a cheap, learners car for Jaime to practise in. Lewyn Martell thought it was epic. Brienne… Jaime didn't know what Brienne would think. He'd run around like a maniac all day yesterday, convincing everyone to keep the whole thing shush-shush from her. He had planned to surprise her when he was the new… whoever that fast racer guy was. (He was also hiding the fact he was finally learning to fucking drive from Lyanna Stark, because he was fairly sure that if she knew, 1; she would in no way be able to keep it from Brienne, and 2; would demand lifts everywhere.)

Tywin had been planning on visiting their first weekend anyway, by Lannister tradition, although, Jaime was disappointed to see, he did not bring Tyrion with him. It had just been an added bonus, that when Jaime asked for driving lessons, he was there to buy a car to obliterate, Jaime had a almost-empty schedule Fridays, and Cersei's was stuffed. "I can't teach you if you refuse to learn." Tywin informed him briskly.

"You just said around four things I didn't understand." Jaime shrugged. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and retrieved it, only to have it snatched by his father. "Hey!"

Tywin checked Jaime's new message with cold eyes that reminded him he really should have put a fucking lock on his phone. "Sitting around thinking of yourself, making smart comments and tomfoolery of everything is no way to live your life. Or learn how to drive, for that matter. You'll learn that one day, though Gods know when. I'll hire you a qualified instructor as soon as possible. Maybe then you'll learn a little respect, hmm?" He sighed. _What the fuck was he even talking about_? Jaime had woken up in good mood of vast proportions, which had been crushed from him when Tywin turned up with the keys to the now-dead Ford. The iPhone 6 landed in his lap. "In the meantime, your friend Rhaegar has asked you to go shopping for food with him. I trust you can manage that by yourself."

_Why are you so pissed at me all the time? I'm the best one. _"Fine, Gods." Jaime checked the text message. He was to meet Rhaegar and Lyanna (honestly, it was all Rhaegar-and-Lyanna these days. You couldn't get one with out the other. Stark was alright in small doses, but sometimes Jaime just felt like having some testosterone time with his friend.) (Although who was to say Lyanna lacked testosterone.) (Jaime didn't know.) at the apartment.

Jaime slapped the door as he got out of the car and made his way back to Kings Row Court. Lyegar were standing outside the building, heads bent together, blue and silver, conferring loudly and switching money about between open wallets. Lyanna had the stupid _Pugs Not Drugs _bag on again. "Sup!" Jaime shouted, across the road, and the two of them ran over to him. "What's this shit about shopping?" Without his dad breathing ice down his neck, he felt better already.

"Well, Lannister, you exchange money for food, so that you can eat and not starve to death." Lyanna told him patiently as the three of them began to walk down the main road into town. Jaime only half knew where he was going, generally just going with the rest. Between classes, there wasn't much time to explore Kings Landing. Yet. He had big plans for the weekend. (Or had had big plans.) (Then Tywin had to show up, like, _oh, look, I'm a caring father!_)

"Thank you so much for clearing that up." Jaime retorted. "No, I understand that, I just don't know why you need to go out to do it. I have the Dominos number on speed dial."

"And I Googled the best takeouts in Kings Landing, but Rhaegar here has decided he's from the Dark Ages." Lyanna put in. Rhaegar rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"I just think it's a nicer way to do things. And Jaime, I won't be around forever. You need to learn how to take care of yourself, eat the right foods. How to save money." Rhaegar explained.

Jaime stared at him as if he had suddenly proclaimed his name was Barbara and he wanted to make it as a dancer. "My money comes from credit cards, and I work out."

"Unbelievable." Lyanna hit him in the arm. Somehow Jaime had gotten in the middle and he felt as though he were being attacked from all angles. It was quite discomfiting.

"You haven't seen how many bench presses I can do, it doesn't matter if I eat pizza every night."

Somehow, they managed to find the supermarket; the biggest fucking Tesco he had ever seen. It was the unholy father of all Tesco's. (Like most things in this damn city.) Lyanna threw herself into a shopping cart, but that plan died in the womb when they came to the escalators that guarded the entrance. Escalators and stairs. So she reluctantly jumped out and they each grabbed a basket instead. Jaime eyed the stand directly in front of him. "Do you think Brienne would punch me if I got her flowers?"

"Yes." Lyanna and Rhaegar replied in unison. They were becoming one. It was terrifying and fascinating to see, like those programmes about people who have surgery on freaky body parts. If that ever happened to he and Brienne, he'd have to have some emergency protocol in place.

"So what exactly are we buying?" Lyanna asked. "And why exactly am I here, my dorm block has a dining hall."

"Pizza," Jaime answered, incredulous at her ignorance.

"Basic supplies." Rhaegar answered, incredulous at Jaime's apparent ignorance. Prick.

"I don't know what that is." Jaime smiled. "Chataya always ordered everything online. From actual decent places, not chavvy Wal-Marts. Farm shops. And Italy, if we were getting pasta or whatever."

Lyanna smiled at him and patted his shoulder. "Welcome to the real word, rich boy."

-o-

"But we need it!" Lyanna insisted.

"You don't even live with us! _There is no we_!" Jaime interjected.

"Lyanna, we do not need a jumbo box of Lucky Charms." Rhaegar crushed his girlfriends hopes and dreams wearily, reaching for the box and placing it back on the shelf. "I know it's pretty and it has a leprechaun on it, but it's a waste of money. We all agreed on strawberry Shredded Wheat."

"Bullshit, you agreed on strawberry Shredded Wheat, I wanted Froot Loops." Jaime muttered. The cereal aisle of the biggest Tesco in Kings Landing was a beautiful thing. Under the fluorescent lights, all the boxes gleamed enticingly. How was Jaime supposed to resist? Breakfast of champions was of course full English, but cereal was one of the best snacks around.

"Do you have any idea of the sugar content in those things?" Rhaegar asked, scanning the back of the box. "You wouldn't be making yourself a bowl of breakfast, you'd be making yourself a bowl of diabetes."

"Fine. Hey, _Point Break_!" Jaime ran to the reduced-price Blu-Ray rack on the end of the aisle. "What? It's one of my favourite films. Except the gay end. Patrick Swayze could have just gone to prison and then broken out. It was awfully stupid of him to drown himself after being so fucking badass. And of Neo to let him."

"Neo is fucking hot, man." Lyanna put in, from where she was sitting on the floor, doing the puzzle on the back of a box of Coco Pops. She paused. "I want to be one of the ex-presidents."

"His name isn't Neo in anything outside of _The Matrix_, and… Don't you already have a copy?" Rhaegar asked. More _pleaded._

"Of course I do, what kind of idiot do you take me for, it's just at home. As in, with the other hundred films I couldn't be bothered to bring with me."

"Jaime, it's a tenner." Rhaegar explained, snatching the Blu-Ray box from him and putting back on the shelf with the others. "It's a con. You could always ask Tyrion to mail it to you." Jaime sulked until he noticed Rhaegar return to the shelf and sneakily slide _Braveheart _into his basket. Jaime was about to bring him up on it before he realized Lyanna had vanished and then, after hearing Lyanna shout, that Lyanna had found the one aisle Lyanna should never find. Confectionary.

"Shit," Rhaegar muttered. Jaime laughed, because it was funny, and because Rhaegar swearing was funny. It was like seeing a dog walking on its hind legs. They found Lyanna on her tiptoes, trying to reach a packet of Pink Panther wafer biscuits on the top shelf. In her defence, she didn't seem to have fallen down yet. "You know you could have just asked me or Jaime to get it for you?"

"Fuck _that_. A water dancer can stand on one toe for hours." Lyanna swiped her hand and three packets fell down with her. She attempted to put all of them Rhaegar's basket before he removed two of them.

"What the fuck is a water dancer? Hey, do we need Oreos?" Jaime grabbed a packet just to be safe, and a box of Twinkies.

"It's a fighting style, from, like, the medieval times. We were learning about it as research for our play." Lyanna explained, chewing her lip and frowning at a bag of cookies.

"Sounds gay." Jaime shrugged.

"Jaime, we don't _need_ any of this, I don't think. And pizza isn't very well priced in here, we should have… Vegetables, and fruit. And we need bread and fairy liquid. And… Things from all food groups." Rhaegar frowned, withdrawing the neat shopping list he'd made up like the housewife he was.

"No we don't," Jaime protested. "What we need is crisps. And eggs. And beef jerky."

"I'm _vegetarian_." Rhaegar interjected quietly.

"We don't need fairy liquid, we need disposable plates and forks. No washing needed. Just chuck –"

"Jaime!" Rhaegar looked stricken. "How could you even consider doing that to the environment?"

"Look, I'm going to text Brienne, and you'll see." Jaime resolved. If the fools who thought they were this years power couple wouldn't listen to _him, _they might listen to her. She spoke their language about water ballet and shit. (Well, if Rhaegar wouldn't listen to him.) (Lyanna was happily off in her own little Lyannaland, measuring which jar had the more Nutella in it.) Instead of the reply that Jaime had expected (something along the lines of him being a genius) (which he was) (and very fucking hot) (which he also was), what buzzed onto the screen of his phone was, _Do not buy ANYTHING. I'll be there in five._

Eventually Brienne found them, and immediately started hauling items out of the baskets and back on the shelves. Rhaegar seemed thankful, Lyanna annoyed and Jaime was just confused. "What? What's wrong with my crisps? They're what I've always eaten, and I turned out great!"

"They're too expensive. You can buy ones that taste exactly the same for half the price."

"They don't taste exactly the same. They can't, I refuse to believe it." Jaime sulked. The best things came at the biggest prices. That was how you measured success, wasn't it?

"Have you ever tried them?"

"No." As if he would ever contaminate his mouth with poor people crisps.

"Well then how do you –"

"I just do!" Jaime paused. "Hello, by the way. How was… "

"Medieval Literature? Good. I already have half the books on the recommended reading list."

"Pfft. Who actually looks at the recommended reading list? Oh. You. Right. Sorry."

"Oh my god, you people have such problems!" Lyanna shouted, waving her arms about. "These chips or these chips, bloody fucking hells! Every night when I'm trying to sleep the dyed-ginger lunatic lights something on fire as a sacrifice to the lord of fucking light and more often than not it's one of my research papers, _ I am the only one who gets to complain around here! _Now give me my bloody Lucky Charms."

Brienne stared at her. "I live on one side of a scarf."

-0-

After buying only a quarter of the shop thanks to Brienne and Rhaegar's combined efforts at health and budget, and much whining from Jaime because really, what was wrong with a bit of _quality_, they managed to haul the bags back to Kings Row Court between them. Jaime was content with dumping them on the tile floor of the small square of kitchen, but _no_, _Rhaegar _decided to _unpack_ them into _cupboards_ the fridge Jaime didn't know how to arrange.

And then, because none of them had anything better to do, and two of them were trapped under a roof with psycho-women thanks to the genius of university accommodation, Jaime put forth his plans of how he wanted to spend the afternoon, and the rest of them just sort of latched onto it and invited themselves along. Well. That was fucking helpful, wasn't it? He actually wanted some time just to think about some stuff. And maybe to find a decent driving instructor. Apparently not. So, Jaime found himself wandering around the city centre of Kings Landing, with the usual suspects.

And, naturally, none of them realized they were lost until they were very fucking lost.

Somehow, Jaime reflected, they had found their way to a port, the four of them crammed onto a bench eating the BLT minus the B (the only good part of a BLT) that Rhaegar had in his pocket. Lyanna had made a hat of the tinfoil it was wrapped in, and they were all of them having a lovely time, Brienne and Jaime exchanging dealing-with-Cersei tips and so forth, until Stark fucked it all up by realizing the inevitable.

"What's the time?" Lyanna asked. "We have to audition for the play at like, seven. It is seven, right, Rhaegar?"

"Half six." Rhaegar clarified. "I don't have my watch though, and I'm trying to boycott cellular phones at the minute, the radiation is quite daunting and honestly, I don't want to fall prey to the technological possession of this generation."

Jaime gave Brienne a sideways glance, trying to stop from laughing. Honestly, why was he friends with this man? "Just want to look at the time, I think you're safe." But he produced his own rapidly dying iPhone anyway. "You've got an hour."

"Should we start going back?" Rhaegar asked anxiously. "I know we said we'd do some runs beforehand…"

Lyanna stared evenly at him. "You want to watch the sunset, don't you?"

"Well it's just so inspiring, I –"

"Never thought Lyanna fucking Stark would be the one ushering Prince Targaryen to leave on time." Jaime muttered, leaning over to Brienne. "Pinch me."

"No." Brienne replied.

"Suit yourself." Jaime glanced around. The city of Kings Landing was vast and sprawling and quite possibly overpopulated, originally most of the buildings the same brick as the college's Red Keep, the enormous multi-faith church standing like a crown on the head of it's hill, towers turned to crystal by the fading light. What the fuck? His mind had been taken over by Rhaegar Targaryen. He'd been living with the harp-playing dickhead for too long. Anyway, Jaime had made note of several pizza joints, nightclubs and bars that he would have to try out. Tyrion still knew that guy, Bronn, who could sort out fake IDs. He wondered if Brienne would join him at any point. It wasn't her sort of thing. Sometimes Jaime honestly didn't know what was.

_See, she's a great kid, she just doesn't want to socialize, it's always sitting in her room, reading this or on her laptop, or at the gym, where god forbid she interact with anybody._ That was what Selwyn Tarth had said to Jaime the first time they'd met. Why the fuck did Jaime remember that far back? (It had been a good day though.) (It always was when you got invited for dinner and discovered someone's appalling taste in music.) But seriously, Jaime was beginning to think he'd been right. Jaime and Brienne had found the KLC sports centre together and decided if they were both free, one could not work out without the other, but whenever people tried to talk to them Brienne said a few words and went off to get more water. No, he'd have to get her to come to a bar with him at some point. Somewhere, deep down, he'd heard television say once, there was a party animal in every person. Somewhere very very very very very fucking _deep _deep down. If anyone was going to bring that out, it was Jaime. He was Jaime fucking Lannister. Please.

"Are you two staying here?" Rhaegar's voice yanked Jaime from his thoughts. (Thoughts?) (The fuck had happened to him.)

"Um," Brienne said. "I don't mind. It's a bit cold, and

I wouldn't mind taking some time to scour the library for the few books I don't have. Jaime?"

"WINTER IS COMING!" Lyanna yelled.

Jaime ignored her. "Yeah, let's go." He grinned. "I thought you _liked your jumper and it was warm_?" He tried to mimic Brienne's voice, but it sort of failed and everyone just ended up laughing at him.

"It is warm, I just have things that are warmer, and – anyway, this is a different jumper!" Brienne mocked sounding almost hurt.

"Looks the same to me, my fashion impaired friend." Jaime grinned.

"Go where?" Rhaegar asked. "I don't remember what street this came off of. Was it the Silk Street or Steel? Did we pass that Mud Gate place?"

"No," Jaime frowned, irritated that Rhaegar was interrupting him again, as usual. "Isn't that by the Blackwater?"

"Great." Lyanna stated. "Jaime, safe to say, we can eat you first when we start to slowly starve out here. You're the most annoying."

Jaime snorted.

**-0-**

As it turned out, they did not, in fact, eat Jaime. It did however, begin to rain around the time they stumbled across the back entrance to the college; the way that did not contain a gate.

**A/N ~ **_IF YOU ARE GENUINELY INTERESTED IN THIS STORY (PSSH) YOU MIGHT WANT TO READ THE FOLLOWING ALTHOUGH I THINK (HOPE) THE SMARTER ONES OF YOU HAVE ALREADY GATHERED THE GIST – _

I have never been the poster child for regular updates. I procrastinate, I am easily distracted, and I have no internet connection in my house. However, I have always been quite good at writing out my plotted fics because I have no life.

The awful fact is, I have recently acquired one.

Now, I have no former knowledge of how these 'life' things work – what do you do with them? Why? But the sad fact I have had to admit is that yes, I have recently broken up with my boyfriend, starred in a fabulous play – which is going very well, thank you for asking, I am indeed the new Helena Bonham Carter – have a bunch of stuff to do for getting into college, and have a possible new bout of travelling looming. And I can blame all that all I like, but the truth is, I haven't felt much inspiration for this fic for ages.

Don't go crying on me – I WILL FINISH THIS FANFICTION, I HAVE MADE THE UNBREAKABLE VOW AND I AM TOO FUCKING STUBBORN TO EVER STOP – but updates may be further apart now.

In fact, you might want to think of this as a brief, heartbreaking hiatus and try to move on with your lives, occasionally checking back and finding I've posted three silly chapters at once.

I do still love you all, I swear.

*cowers behind sofa*


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